My daughter’s manners upset my dad – so he cut me out of his life

‘I know I haven’t been in touch for a long time but I wanted to talk to my daughter,’ Dad told my husband, Jack*, over the phone.

‘It’s your dad,’ Jack whispered to me, with his hand covering the receiver.

It was 2022 and I hadn’t spoken to my father since 2011, so I was in a state of shock.

As I nervously put the phone up to my ear, Dad said hello and then came out with his request: ‘Can I ask you for all the full names of your children? I want to put them in my will.’

Dad ended up updating me about his life: He was in his late 70s, he had a long-term girlfriend, he had broken his leg, and he still missed Mum – who had died 11 years earlier.

As soon as I hung up, I was stunned – especially because of how we left things over 10 years prior.

Growing up in the 70s, Dad worked shifts and Mum stayed at home as the main carer for me and my younger brother, Jeffrey*. I use the term ‘carer’ very hesitantly, because much of her time was spent screaming, smacking, threatening, punishing and ignoring us.

Looking back, I don’t think she enjoyed being a mother. 

On one occasion, Mum pulled my hair, spat at me, and called me a slut and a slag out of nowhere.

Dad wasn’t much better.

I was married and had children of my own, and as much as I wanted them to get on well with my parents, that never happened

Some evenings, he would arrive home and whatever wrong we had done that day – according to Mum in his ear – he would have to pull us out of bed to hit us with either the cane or his slipper.

Jeffrey’s cries of pain and the bruises we sustained still haunt me to this day. 

As a result of this tough upbringing, Jeffery and I were inseparable as children. We were never allowed to have friends over, so we became each other’s best friends.

Despite the emotional abuse continuing at home well into our teens, Jeffrey and I gradually began to grow apart – I suspect because we wanted to get on with our lives and forget all that had happened to us.

By 1994, I was married and had children of my own, and as much as I wanted them to get on well with my parents, that never happened.

My parents treated my children very poorly and my children hated going round their house. My mother in particular put me down and shouted at me in front of them – after that, they were scared around her.

Then, when she was in her early 60s, Mum suddenly got gravely ill. She collapsed out of the blue and was placed on life support.

I just remember staring at her in that hospital bed thinking how I’d been afraid of her all my life and now she couldn’t touch me. She died of a brain haemorrhage later that same day and it was a mixture of sadness and relief.

Dad was bereft.

The funeral came around quickly – for the sake of one day, my dad, brother and I worked hard to make the day go well – and focused heavily on her friends and hobbies in an extremely positive light.

Sadly, after that, my brother and I lost all contact. We just drifted even further apart and there was seemingly no going back.

My relationship with Dad, however, remained just as tumultuous. We tried to see him at least once a month but he was often moody and disgruntled – sometimes, when I’d call just to see how he was or if he needed anything, he’d slam the phone down.

Then our falling out happened.

It was 2011 and Dad sent my daughter a birthday card. My daughter wrote to thank him for the card – but she didn’t call to thank him when she opened it.

That’s when my dad told me that he no longer wanted me in his life and he was washing his hands of me.

I was incredulous: ‘What? Dad, no, don’t say this, please,’ I begged, I pleaded, I cried. 

Once again we were falling into another argument I didn’t want to have. I felt he was being totally irrational and unfair. Worse still, my young son witnessed it as it all happened over the car phone.

But no matter what I said he remained furious and there was no convincing him otherwise.

At first, I was an emotional wreck, jumping every time the phone rang, as well as over analysing everything I’d said and done. During the phone call I asked him several times: ‘Do you really want to cut me out of your life? Are you sure you want to do this?’ but he’d been adamant. 

So the years went by.

We’ve picked up from where we had left off and soon went back to being a close brother and sister

Eventually, I had counselling, which helped set me free. The counsellor helped me unwrap, unload, understand and eventually heal from all the trauma I had experienced over so many years: the cruelty, punishments, ignoring, screaming, blame, isolation and now estrangement.

Then the phone call about the will happened in 2022.

It was during this phone call that we agreed to meet up for the first time in over a decade.

We got together at my house, exchanged stories, and he met his adult grandchildren. He never mentioned anything about the past to them – certainly nothing about the birthday card incident – and has been nothing but lovely to them since. 

To this day, he has also never discussed that 2011 call, nor apologised or explained his outburst. And while he has expressed his sadness that Jeffrey and I are no longer in touch, he has never tried to force us to make amends or offered to do anything about it.

However, last year, Dad fell and broke his hip and while visiting him in the hospital, I bumped into Jeffrey.

It was awkward at first but we quickly got talking. Then, Jeffrey asked me if I fancied meeting up and I nervously agreed – I didn’t want anything to go wrong, to say the wrong thing, and it was important to both of us that the meet up went well.

Thankfully, we had a lovely breakfast together and spoke for hours about everything: our childhood, adulthood, and children.

From then on, we’ve picked up from where we had left off and soon went back to being a close brother and sister.

As for Dad, he hasn’t changed and can be toxic at times, but it doesn’t hurt me anymore. 

Honestly, I am just happy we are in touch because I genuinely thought I would never see Dad again.

Our family isn’t perfect – no-one’s is – but I’m grateful that he picked up that phone and called me.

*All names have been changed

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